


Harry Potter Totally Sucks

by dracogotgame



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Humorously, Crack Treated Seriously, Drunk Fic, Drunk Logic, Drunk Shenanigans, Dudley Draco Bromance, Fluff, Humor, M/M, old fic, reposted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 19:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7769962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracogotgame/pseuds/dracogotgame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy has three excellent reasons to get sloshed- a father who won't accept him, a Harry Potter he can't stop crushing on and that damned hippogriff that tried to eat him. And he is going to tell them what's what, because clearly that is a good idea. Fortunately, his new muggle friend seems to have a beef with Potter too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Problems Everywhere

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old fic that I'm still kinda fond of. Posting it here because reasons. Please enjoy, and again, it's basically crack.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two emotionally unstable boys walk into a bar...

Theo Nott was having a particularly bad day. Why? His best mate was being…let’s call it ‘difficult’. And if you knew Theo’s best mate as well as he did, you would know that this is a _problem_. Once again, he tried to assume the daunting role of The Voice of Reason.  
  
“So it’s been a bad day,” he ventured. “Is that any reason for us to be in this _deplorable_ muggle pub getting completely sloshed out of our heads?”  
Draco glared blearily over his third…Johnny Walker? Sprinter? Theo didn’t give a damn. Draco was glaring and that was never good.  
  
“ _I’m_ gettin’ wasteded,” he announced accusingly. “Yer not even trying! Look!” He pointed indignantly at Theo’s barely touched martini and sneered. “To quote m’ esteemed Father- _Yer a disgrace, Draco. Now get outta my house!_ ”  
  
He accompanied this declaration with a sweeping motion in the general direction of the door- a surprisingly apt imitation of one of Lucius Malfoy’s more dramatic dismissals. Theo hastened to grab on to his hammered housemate’s sleeve, saving him from crashing to the floor for the fourth time that night. This was not going well…  
  
“In his defence,” he tried again, “and yes, yes there isn’t any–  _bad_ Lucius, etcetera etcetera- you did announce that you were gay  _and_ in love with Harry Potter in the same bleeding day. What did you expect him to do, throw you a coming out party?”  
  
Draco was not appeased. “He’s a _bad_ man,” he mumbled belligerently. “I hate him. _And_ Potter. And…and hippogriffs!”  
  
“Hippogriffs?” Theo enquired, not really sure if he wanted an explanation.  
  
“That manky bird from Third Year!” Draco clarified. “Still have th’ bleedin’ scars!” He wrestled with his shirt and tugged it off his shoulders, before Theo could stop him. The dark haired Slytherin sighed. “Those are the scars from your altercation with Potter. Remember, Sixth Year?” he said, tugging Draco’s shirt back on and buttoning it up rather severely. Belatedly, it struck him that bringing up Potter was probably a mistake.  
  
Sure enough, Draco whimpered and his head slumped forward to meet the table. Theo winced at the audible _thunk_. That was going to hurt tomorrow. “Shtupid Potter,” Draco mumbled. “First he hurts me, then he shaves me…”  
  
Theo’s world screeched to a standstill. “ _When_ did Potter shave you?!” he demanded, suitably horrified.  
  
Draco scowled at him. “Not _shave_ , y’idiot! Shave! Like…like rescue and stuff. You know, from the…the thing.”  
  
Theo nodded soberly. Fiendfyre was a word best left unsaid among Slytherins, even when drunk. Not that Draco wasn’t _well_ beyond that stage…  
  
“I think it’s time to go home,” he suggested. “You can sleep at my place and…”  
  
“Not going,” Draco muttered belligerently. “M gonna stay here with Johnny.”  
  
“You _drank_ Johnny!” Theo snapped, getting irritated now. Draco sneered and embraced the whisky bottle. Theo scowled. “Enough is enough,” he gritted out. “Getting drunk is _not_ going to solve your admittedly impressive number of personal issues. Therefore, you will come home with me and either die of alcohol poisoning or wake up tomorrow and deal with your problems like a grown up! Either way, we are leaving this Merlin forsaken bar right now!”  
  
“No!” Draco snapped peevishly. “I’m gonna stay here ‘n drink with someone better than _you!_ Someone who…who _understands_ my problems!”  
  
“Draco, I’m warning you…”  
  
“Oi!” Draco bellowed at the bar in general. “Who thinks Harry Potter **sucks?!** ”  
  
Theo practically cringed with embarrassment as the few muggles present swivelled about to stare at them with alternating looks of disapproval and amusement. Oh well. At least now he could shame Draco into leaving the damn place without making a total fool of…  
  
A teetering hand shot into the air and the next second a slurred voice declared, “Harry Potter _totally_ sucks!”  
  
Draco lit up like a Christmas tree and Theo groaned.

* * *

Piers Polkiss wasn’t having that fine a night himself. Granted, Dudley had reason enough to get totally hammered but would it have been too much to ask that they shoot a few at his flat? Now he would have to drag his sulking, _hulking_ best friend back to his cramped apartment and frankly, Piers wasn’t looking forward to it. 

“Alright mate,” he cajoled, trying to pry a vodka shot away from Dudley. “That’s enough for one night.”  
  
“No,” Dudley replied staunchly, huddling the shot-glass like a baby koala. “M still standing. ‘s unacceptabable.”  
  
Piers prayed for patience. “Speaking of unacceptable,” he attempted. “You don’t want to be late for work tomorrow. First day with the new promotion. Can’t have a bistro without a head chef, yeah?”  
  
Dudley gave him a sloppy grin. “’M really a head chef,” he declared dreamily.  
  
“Yeah, you are,” Piers replied with a slight smile. “And you’re the best, my man.” He patted Dudley’s shoulder in a show of support.  
  
“M’ Dad don’ think so,” Dudley mumbled. Piers sighed. Here we go. He wrestled a cheery expression on to his sharp face as best as he could. “Hey, who cares what old man Dursley thinks?” he asked lightly. “So you don’t want to be a wrestler.  I think your filet mignon is way better than your Nelson hold anyway.”  
  
“Can’t believe he said I was _dead_ to him,” Dudley mumbled plaintively. His blond hair tumbled over his eyes, giving him the look of a forlorn Labrador. “And…and then Laura…”  
  
Piers winced. He’d been hoping that The Ex wouldn’t come up in conversation again. “Laura was…” he struggled for the appropriate terminology. “…a bitch.” Yeah, that sounded about right. “I’m sorry, Big D. That bird was _horrible_. You’re better off without her.”  
  
“I know,” Dudley mumbled. “Jus’ been a rough week, is all. And I miss Samson.”  
  
Of _course_ Laura had kept the dog. Piers sneered and downed the rest of his beer. Well, Dudley wasn’t going to get any more sober sitting over here. Piers shook his head and stood up. “Come on mate,” he declared. “Let’s go…”  
  
“You know whose fault this _really_ is?” Dudley demanded.  
  
Piers slumped back wearily. Dudley glowered at him over a shot-glass. “Well?” he demanded, clearly expecting an answer.  
  
“I don’t know,” Piers sighed. “God?”  
  
“Harry Potter,” Dudley declared confidently.  
  
Piers frowned, trying to place the name. “Your dweeby cousin from when we were kids? The one who disappeared?”  
  
Dudley nodded, looking rather pleased with himself for figuring it out and promptly swiped up another beer. “S _his_ fault,” he repeated.  
  
“Sure mate,” Piers muttered. Anything to get Dudley out of this dive. “Whatever you say. So how about we go home and…”  
  
“I had it all figured out!” Dudley cried. Piers groaned and subsided again. It was going to be a long, _long_ night. Dudley launched into another spiel. “Was gonna... be a wrestler ‘n make Dad proud. Cause…cause I wanted to make Dad proud, ya know? What bloke doesn’ wanna make his old man proud?” Piers nodded, but Dudley didn’t seem to notice. He just kept on rambling. “S why I used to beat him all th’ time…cause Dad was all like _proud_ , when I did. And then…then that thing happened an’ he saved m’ life. Did I ever tell you ‘bout the thing?”  
  
“You did,” Piers affirmed. Something about a grey ghost and how Potter had done magic and saved Dudley’s life…of course he didn’t believe a word of it. Dudley was probably just smoking some _really_ good grass when he dreamt that up. But he was in no mood to get into an argument right now…  
  
“You _can’t_ beat up the guy who saves yer life, Piers!” Dudley groaned. “I couldn’ _do_ it after that! I changed and…Dad shoulda…he shoulda understood, right?”  
  
And we’re back to the daddy issues. “Look,” Piers said firmly. “You and me? We were little shites growing up. If I could apologise to that Potter kid, I would. I know you would too. But he’s…”  
  
“You shouldn’ save someone’s life ‘n disappear,” Dudley muttered sullenly. “’s not _decent_. Walking in and…an'  _changing_ everything and then going away…God, I _hate_ that little shite!”  
  
Piers nodded, but shifted uneasily. “Do you think he’s dead?” he asked finally.  
  
Dudley shook his head firmly. “Nah,” he mumbled. “Prick could survive anything. Survived me, didn’ he?”  
  
“Wish I could say the same about myself,” Piers grimaced. He could feel a bitch of a migraine coming on. “Come on, Dudley,” he pleaded. “It’s late. Can we _please_ just go home and crash?”  
  
Dudley blinked at him and then nodded despondently. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Let’s go…”  
  
Piers heaved a sigh of relief, and then proceeded to drape Dudley around his shoulders. They stumbled to the door, and he was nearly through when calamity struck. A sharp, somewhat slurred voice rang out in the silence. “Oi! Who thinks Harry Potter sucks?”  
  
Dudley screeched to a halt and his hand shot up at once, nearly knocking Piers over. “Harry Potter _totally_ sucks!” he bellowed enthusiastically.  
  
“ _So_ close,” Piers muttered. And then he trudged his way back in the bar, following his lumbering friend.


	2. And They Have a Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dudley and Draco choose their victims.

“Y’know what I hate most ‘bout, Potter?” Draco demanded, swirling an empty beer bottle around. It crashed to the floor and he blinked at it before remembering that he was in the middle of one of the most scintillating conversations of his life. “His hair,” he finished triumphantly. “His stupid, _stupid_ hair.”  
  
“S not as bad as the glasses,” Dudley remarked sagely. “Broke ‘em a couple times an’ he kept fixing ‘em somehow. Stupid Potter.”  
  
“Stupid Potter,” Draco agreed. Then he frowned at Dudley. “You shouldn’ break his glasses. Tha’s mean. He could…could fall off the flyin’ staircase or somethin’!”  
  
“Woulda _apologised_ if he stuck around for five minutes,” Dudley muttered. “Stupid Potter.”  
  
“Stupid, _stupid_ Potter!” Draco agreed vehemently. The clinked their glasses together and downed a very questionable cocktail each. Theo and Piers blinked dazedly over their own drinks. “I…must be more pissed than I thought,” Theo articulated carefully. “I can swear they’re both talking about the same Potter.”  
  
“Just go with it, mate,” Piers muttered. “Here, have another beer.”  
  
“I don’t drink that muggle swill,” Theo sneered.  
  
“Ya know what I hate more than Potter?! _Nothing!_ ”  
  
“Give me the beer,” Theo muttered, snatching it up from a smirking Piers.  
  
Suddenly, Draco slammed his fist on the table. “You guys!” he shrilled. Piers jumped, Theo started and Dudley just blinked dazedly. “I thought of someone I hate more ‘n Potter!” His cheeks were flushed and his grey eyes were _way_ too bright for this to be good. The small company regarded him expectantly. “My _Father!_ ” Draco announced smugly. “He’s the worst! To my fucking Father,” he added, raising a glass.  
  
“No way he’s got anything on my old man,” Dudley countered abruptly. “ _He’s_ the absolute worst!”  
  
Draco halted mid toast and frowned, recognizing a challenge when he saw one. “My Father threw me out of the house ‘cause I’m bent,” he sneered.  
  
Dudley waved him off dismissively. “My Dad doesn’ like me to make my own decisions.”  
  
Draco’s lip curled and he leaned in aggressively. “Mine beats house elves.”  
  
Dudley blinked, apparently trying to assess that. “Mine…hates lawn gnomes?”  
  
“Mine _kills_ people!”  
  
“Mine evades taxes!”  
  
“My head hurts,” Piers declared.   
  
“Jus’ go with it,” Theo slurred, patting his back in a commiserating fashion. Piers shrugged and slumped on his shoulder as Draco and Dudley glowered at each other. Draco’s eyes narrowed and Dudley’s fists clenched. The atmosphere crackled with tension of the worst sort, until Draco huffed and slumped back in his chair. “Truce,” he declared.   
  
“Huh?” Dudley blinked. Clearly, he’d been gearing up for a fight.  
  
“We shouldn’ get mad at each other ‘cause of our fathers,” Draco declared. “ _Or_ Potter.” He leaned in and patted Dudley’s huge hand, regarding him with serious grey eyes. “Don’ cha understand, muggle? We need to stick _together_.”  
  
Dudley frowned, trying to make sense of that. “Guess yer right,” he acceded. “Not _our_ fault they screwed us over. We should be mad at _them_.”  
  
“Damn right!” Draco agreed stoutly.   
  
“We should go tell ‘em off!” Dudley declared suddenly. His brown eyes glinted with drunken determination. “Our fathers!” he clarified as Draco frowned. The blond blinked, processed that and decided that he really, _really_ liked this muggle.  
  
“We should!” he sneered. “And Potter too!”  
  
“ _And_ Potter!” Dudley echoed enthusiastically.  
  
“And the hippogriff!”  
  
“ _And_ the…wait, what now?”  
  
“The hippogriff!” Draco retorted, gesturing impatiently. “You know! Demon bird from the depths of hell that lives on pain and misery an’ the screams of small children? A _hippogriff!_ ”  
  
Dudley’s eyes gleamed with the light of understanding. “I know _exactly_ where to find one!” he declared.  
  
“Then what’re we waiting for?” Draco demanded, getting up and teetering slightly before steadying himself. “Lead the way, ya magnificent muggle!”  
They upset a table as they stumbled out of the bar. The crash woke Theo and he got up, blinking around blearily.  Piers started to wakefulness next to him. “Where’d they go?” he demanded.  
  
“I dunno,” Theo slurred. “But we should… prolly go after ‘em.”  
  
“We should,” Piers agreed, making no move to get up. He blinked slowly at Theo. “Beer first?”  
  
Theo’s mouth stretched in a sloppy, benevolent grin. “I’s startin’ to like you, muggle. A lot.”


	3. Target 1: Acquired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dudley and Draco's (mis)adventures continue as they track down the er...'hippogriff'

_Laura, please. You can have the stupid apartment, I don't care about that! Just…just let me see Samson again. I know he misses me. Please, just…_

Laura Aberdeen smirked as she deleted Dudley's message from her voicemail. "Sot," she muttered, switching her mobile off. Samson whimpered in his corner and she sneered at him. "Settle down, mutt!" She huffed and walked over to the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of wine. Honestly, the stupid dog was a nuisance- always whining and whimpering and being a pain- but she'd be damned if she let Dudley have him. Hell no. She was keeping the house _and_ the dog and her stupid ex could just learn to live with…

"No no **no!** I meant th' _other_ ugly, vicious bird from the depths of hell!"

Laura screamed and whirled around, knocking the wine to the floor. The sight in front of her made her eyes widen and then narrow almost instantly. Her ex-boyfriend was standing- _swaying-_ right behind her, accompanied by a rather dishy blond. And they were both regarding her with unabashed curiosity.

"M tellin' you, she _is_ a vicious bird!" Dudley argued. "Lives on pain 'n misery 'n _everything!_ "

Laura screeched in outrage.

"See?" Dudley said smugly.

The blond looked her over again and shrugged. "Close 'nuff to the real thing."

Laura had had enough. "Dudley Dursley!" she shouted. "What the hell are you doing in my house? Who's this bloke? And…I locked the door! How did you even get in here?!"

"Still have m' key," Dudley explained.

" _I_ wanted t' use th' fireplace," the blond declared sullenly. "But _shertain_ people aren't open to new forms o' travel."

"I _tol'_ you I don't like squeezing inna tight places!" Dudley whined.

Laura blinked, not entirely sure how to respond to this. It wasn't everyday you came across a couple of lunatics standing in your living room. Finally, she decided to focus her ire on a familiar target. "Get out of here," she spat at Dudley. "Get _out_ of my house right now!"

"S _my_ house!" Dudley argued. "You took it! _And_ my dog! Where's Samson?" He started stomping around, whistling and calling for the mutt. "Samson? Here, boy! Come on out!"

Samson shot out of the kitchen like a bullet and plastered himself over Dudley, barking and wagging and whimpering for all he was worth. "I missed you too, boy," Dudley mumbled thickly. "Missed you so…"

Laura seethed. "Get _away_ from him and get out of here," she spat. "Or I am going to call the…"

"Now hold on," the blond slurred, stepping in between her and Dudley. "You 'n I are gonna have a li'l _talk_ , Buckbeak."

" _What_ did you call me?!" Laura screeched.

The blond waved her off, continuing with his nonsensical rambling. "'S one thing to try and eat me when I was a kid. 'Spose we're even on account of I tried to kill you 'n all. But you do not, _not_ stand between a man 'n his crup. That's not cool, a'right? _Really_ bad form." He glowered and poked her shoulder disapprovingly.

Laura was too stunned to do more than gape. "You're completely crazy," she finally managed. "I want you both gone from here right now!"

"Not leavin' without Samson," Dudley declared, lifting his chin stubbornly and sheltering the dog. "Just lemme have him and I'll go Laura, I swear…"

"You heard th' man, Feathers," the blond drawled. "Shurren…surrendeded… give us the mutt and we'll be on our way."

"No!" Laura snarled, stomping over and wrenching Samson off Dudley by his collar. The dog whimpered pitifully and so did Dudley, and if she had turned around she would have seen the blond's eyes narrow dangerously. But Laura was too caught up in railing at her quailing, miserable ex to pay any attention to him. "You listen to me, you worthless sod! You'll have this dog over my cold, dead body! Shut **up** , you stupid mongrel! And as for _you_ freaks, you have exactly ten seconds to get out of my house before I call the…"

~"Obliviate."~

Laura stilled and her entire body went rigid. She gasped and just as suddenly, it felt like she was floating and her mind was all hazy…it wasn't _bad_ , just…strange…

She blinked as her apartment came into focus again. The two blurry figures hovering around her slowly cleared and she recognized one of them. "Dudley?" she murmured, rubbing her eyes sleepily. "What're you…sorry, I…I must have dozed off or something."

"S'alright," the blond stranger cut in, stepping over and giving her a charming grin. "You're just tired."

"I am?" Laura mumbled.

The blond nodded; all tousled hair and guileless, grey eyes. "Really, _really_ tired. Cause…cause its hard takin' care of a dog _an'_ a big house, amirite? Good thing we're here to take the mutt off your hands."

Laura blinked. She couldn't recall…but he…and they were…"Oh, of course," she mumbled. It made sense. Of course, it did. "You should have him, Dud. He misses you so much."

Dudley swallowed thickly. "I miss him too." He bent down and scratched Samson's ears gently. "So… I can take him?"

"Of course, ya big lug," the blond insisted, shepherding them out the door. "'s why you're _here_ , 'member?" Laura watched dazedly as he practically pushed Dudley out the door, Samson following closely at his heels. The blond stopped to swipe her bottle of wine and give her another bright grin. "Thanks for bein' so understanding."

Laura nodded. "No…no problem. Hey, when did you…"

But he was already gone.


	4. Phase 2: Launched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dudley and Draco sally forth to take on The Fathers. First stop: Privet Drive

Dudley paid the cab driver and stumbled out on the street, Draco and Samson right behind him. They stalled a few minutes, trying to get their bearings.  
  
“You’re _sure_ you didn’t…you know, _do_ anything to her?” Dudley demanded for the fourth time.  
  
“ _No_ idea what you’re talkin’ about,” Draco declared blithely, digging into the pastry box they’d picked up from Dudley’s cafe. “We got your damn dog, didn’ we? Here dog, have a parfait.” Samson accepted the treat from his hand, barking affably and wagging his bushy tail. Dudley wished he was half so cheery. He started down Privet Drive with a mixture of fear and trepidation.  
  
“Maybe we should go yell at your Dad first,” he suggested.  
  
Draco favoured him with a long suffering sigh and rolled his eyes. “ _No,_ muggle. We talked about this, ‘member? _My_ Father’s gonna kill us on sight. So we’re handling _your_ shite first. Cause…cause ’m not a shelfish bastard irrrrespective o’ what Potter thinks.”  
  
“Stupid Potter,” Dudley muttered automatically.  
  
“Stupid, _stupid_ Potter!” Draco agreed, pressing the wine bottle in his hand. Dudley took a long swig to fortify himself and nodded firmly. “Okay, ‘m ready. Let’s do this.”  
  
They marched up to the fourth house- Dudley dragging his feet and Draco ambling and munching on a profiterole. Dudley waffled on the porch, reaching for the doorbell and finally pulling his hand back. “This is a bad idea,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I can’t…I can’t do this.”  
  
“Fine,” Draco sighed, reaching over to pat his head supportively. “S’alright, muggle. You don’ have to, yeah? We can just go…ooh, look! Ice cream!”  
  
“Where?” Dudley squeaked, looking around eagerly. Draco promptly clambered over him and…  
  
 ** _Ring!_**  
  
“Ha!” he crowed happily as Dudley yelped in dismay. “Ya fell for it! Silly muggle!”  
  
“What cha do that for?” Dudley moaned. “Now he’s gonna…”  
  
He trailed off and cringed as the sound of heavy footsteps thudded from inside the tiny house. The next second, the door flung open revealing a stoutly built, middle aged man clad in a ratty dressing gown.  
  
“ _Dudley?_ ”  
  
“Hi Dad,” Dudley mumbled.  
  
“Hiya, muggle!” Draco put in cheerily.  
  
Vernon Dursley goggled at the curious duo, caught somewhere between shock and…more shock, actually. Finally, his overworked brain came up to speed with this turn of events and his countenance took on a familiar, violet shade. “What are you doing here, boy?!” he snarled at his cringing son. “I thought I told you never to set foot in…are you _drunk?!_ ”  
  
“No?” Dudley whimpered.   
  
“Yep,” Draco countered happily. Samson obliged with a bark of agreement.  
  
Vernon’s moustache quivered in sheer indignation. He purpled some more and then in true form, proceeded to bellow at his offspring. “How dare you show up in a decent neighbourhood at this time of night with this…this _riff raff?_ Explain yourself, boy!”  
  
“Um…I…jus’ wanted to say…say that…”  
  
“Yer a rotten father!” an ever helpful Draco put in succinctly.  
  
 **“What?!”**  
  
“And yer _fat!_ ”  
  
“Why, you insolent, little…”  
  
He made a swipe at Draco, who squeaked and immediately took cover behind Dudley. Vernon roared and tried to shove his way over to the mouthy blond but Dudley held his ground, blocking his furious father. “You can’t hit him,” he admonished severely. “He’s tiny.”  
  
“Am not!” Draco argued, poking his head out cautiously from behind Dudley’s shoulder. That being said, he made no move to take on Vernon again.  
  
Vernon sneered at his son. “I’ll deal with you later!” he snarled. “First I’m going to teach _that_ brat some manners!”  
  
Dudley lifted his chin. “You’re _not_ gonna beat up someone smaller than you, Dad,” he repeated firmly. “Not anymore.”  
  
“You tell ‘im, muggle!”  
  
“Even if he is a bossy little git.”  
  
“ _Specially_ then!”  
  
Vernon sneered at them. “Get out of here,” he snarled. “Both of you! Out! **Now!** ”  
  
“No,” Dudley replied. “I came here to talk t’ you.” He took a deep breath before letting it all out. “You…you always wanted me to be like you. But I…I’m not, Dad. I’m never gonna be a wrestler and I’m sorry about that. But I’m still your son, right? Can’t we just…”  
  
“No son of mine is going to _cook_ for a living!” Vernon bellowed. “Cooking is a woman’s job!”  
  
“Dad, come on. I…”  
  
“No!” Vernon roared. “And if that’s all you have to say for yourself, you can get off my lawn and out of my sight. You _freakish_ , good for nothing…”  
  
“Oi!” Draco snapped, perking up suddenly. “ _Nobody_ talks about my pet muggle like that!” He marched out from behind Dudley, facing a seething Vernon with a look of steely determination on his face. Vernon glowered down at the boy; daring him to interfere. Naturally, Draco did. He shoved the pastry box he was still mangling at Vernon and glared at him. “Your son made these and they’re _fantastic_ ,” he growled. “And _you’re_ gonna eat one and say it’s good!”  
  
Vernon’s mouth twisted. “I will _not_ eat this…”   
  
**“Eat!”** Draco howled, brandishing his wand. Vernon’s eyes widened in unmistakable fear as he recognized the long, slender stick at his throat. “You…” he sputtered. “You’re one of…you’re one of those…”  
  
“Whassit gonna be, muggle?” Draco hissed. “Cake or _death?_ ”  
  
The very air crackled with silent tension. Dudley watched with bated breath, eyes flitting from his teetering defender to his vermillion father. Vernon scowled and grumbled about calling the police, but ultimately self preservation won out and he picked up an éclair, biting into it reluctantly.   
  
“Good?” Dudley asked hopefully, as he chewed.  
  
Vernon swallowed. “It’s _terrible_ ,” he declared with a smug smirk.  
  
 **“Liar!”** Draco howled in outrage, lunging for him. Dudley pulled him back just in time, hauling him away. “Leave it,” he muttered. “We told him off. Tha’s good enough for me.”  
  
“Watch your back, muggle!” Draco yelled, still flailing to get away from Dudley. “You watch your back from now on!”  
  
“Get off my lawn!” Vernon bellowed back.  
  
 **“Fine!”** Dudley snapped. “We’re goin’! Was a mistake anyway. You wouldn’t listen. You _never_ listen. Well, you’re gonna listen now. I like what I do! I _like_ who I am, and if you can’t accept that, you can just…just…”  
  
“Eat dragon dung!” Draco spat.  
  
“Yeah, that!” Dudley agreed. “C’mon mate, let’s get outta here. You too, Samson.”  
  
Vernon watched them stumble off, still shaking with self righteous fury. Before long, they were out of his sight- just like he had wanted. Vernon blinked at the empty street, sighing slightly as a lamp post flickered dimly in the lonely night. Finally, he closed the door and went back inside.   
  
And if he snagged another one of Dudley’s éclairs as he went back upstairs, it didn’t mean a thing.  
  
Certainly not…


	5. Phase 2: Completed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One father down, one to go. Next Stop: Malfoy Manor.

Draco rolled his eyes as Dudley heaved again, retching into a bush on the Manor Grounds. “C’mon, you big baby,” he muttered, poking at the suffering sot. “It was jus’ a little apparishon. I didn’ make a scene when we took the wheely box thing, did I?”  
  
“S _not_ the same as a cab!” Dudley grumbled, straightening himself gingerly and snatching up the near empty wine bottle again. Then he caught sight of the palatial white building crowning the grounds and nearly choked. “You live _here?_ ”  
  
“Home sweet home,” Draco announced, gesturing at the manor with flourish.   
  
Dudley gazed awe struck, while Samson decided that these new surroundings warranted exploring. He sniffed around in a bush, immediately eliciting a racket of angry squawks and flapping. Dudley gaped.  
  
“Is that a… peacock?” he blurted as Samson yelped and took cover behind him, whimpering in complaint.   
  
“Do not make eye contact,” Draco advised as the angry bird subsided and nestled back in the bush. “Same rule fer Father.” He turned to gaze at the Manor uncertainly. In the silence of the night, it looked even more cold and foreboding than usual. Draco swallowed, taking a cautious step back. “Y’know muggle, maybe this isn’ the best idea…”  
  
“Oh no,” Dudley cut in, firmly grabbing hold of his arm and propelling him forward. “You made _me_ do it. Now ‘s your turn.”  
  
“But ‘s _different!_ ” Draco whined, dragging his feet as Dudley dragged him forward.    
  
“Why?”  
  
“Cause this time _I_ could get hurt!”  
  
“You’ll feel better, honest!” Dudley insisted. “C’mon… we’re in this together, right?”  
  
It took another ten minutes of Draco grumbling and muttering but ultimately he relented and cast a summoning charm. “We are gonna die,” he muttered ominously. “Dog might make it. But you ‘n me are dead, muggle. Dead, I tell you.”  
  
“Jus’…tell him how you feel,” Dudley encouraged, albeit shakily. He looked rather frightened and Draco tried not to feel too guilty about dragging the poor sod into this. He could only hope that Lucius was less handy with Unforgivables at this time of night.  
  
No such luck. When Lucius Malfoy glided out to the entrance, he was armed with a wand and an expression so cold that Draco had to fight the urge to disapparate on the spot. The dog whimpered fretfully- or perhaps it was the muggle- and Draco swallowed as his sire stared down at them with icy fury.   
  
“This had better be good,” Lucius intoned in a tone that Draco had heard only once; when a house elf had accidentally burnt his favourite pair of socks. It had _not_ ended well for the house elf. Draco cringed.  
  
“F-funny story?” he managed.  
  
“Regale me.”  
  
Draco froze as if he’d been Petrified, wondering why exactly he had thought this would be a good idea. He faltered a bit, backing right into the muggle’s bulky frame. His terrified companion gulped but obliged with an encouraging pat to the shoulder and the dog nuzzled against his leg comfortingly. Draco bolstered the remaining shreds of his courage and turned back to his seething sire. “I…wanted to talk ‘bout what…what happened today.”  
  
Lucius sneered. “I can only hope that you are here to apologize for your deplorable behaviour, Draco. Else I have no choice but to disinherit you.”   
  
Draco quailed again but Dudley discovered his backbone and spoke up. “He…he’s not,” he stuttered out.   
  
Lucius turned on him, apparently noticing him for the first time. “Are you addressing _me_ , boy?” he demanded. Suddenly he stilled and took a minute to actually _look_ at the shaking company, taking in Dudley’s attire and his apparent lack of a wand. Lucius’ eyes narrowed and he turned on his son. “Draco Abraxas Malfoy,” he hissed dangerously. “ _What_ is a muggle doing in my ancestral home?”   
  
“He’s w-with me,” Draco stammered. “He’s m-my friend.”  
  
Lucius, if possible became even more livid. “Boy, you are in a world of trouble right now. Get this filth out of my sight and get inside the house this **instant!** ”  
  
“You can’t tell him what to do!” Dudley protested weakly.  
  
“Shut your mouth, muggle scum!” Lucius snarled, raising his wand. Three things happened simultaneously. Dudley squeaked and scrambled back, nearly falling over on his arse. Samson yelped and skittered back as well, cowering behind his hulking master. And Draco…Draco whipped out his wand, shielding them from his father’s ire. Lucius blinked at the sight of his son’s wand at his throat. Silent tension crackled in the atmosphere as the two Malfoys faced off and then Lucius sneered. “You’ve gone _mad_ ,” he declared.   
  
“No,” Draco disagreed. “Jus’ _really_ drunk.” He blinked as if he couldn’t quite believe he was doing this and turned to the muggle for reassurance. Dudley nodded frantically and Draco took a deep breath. Now or never.  “You can’t curse ‘m, Father,” he drawled. “Remember what happened last time you went down this road? Harry Potter? Ring a bell?”  
  
Lucius’ eyes narrowed. “If you think I am going to humour this ridiculous infatuation of yours with that Potter boy, you’re…”  
  
“’S not about Potter!” Draco snapped. “I’m tired of being your…your _perfect_ pureblood son, Father. It’s not me. _This_ is me. Take it or leave it.”  
  
“Yeah!” Dudley squeaked.  
  
Lucius growled. “You will cease this atrocious behaviour right now, Draco. Or I’ll…”  
  
“Or you’ll what?” Draco demanded. “Hex me? Disinherit me? Go ahead, Father. ‘S not gonna change who I am, is it?”  
  
“What you are is a _Malfoy!_ ” Lucius spat. “Albeit a poor excuse for one. But you will do right by this family, Draco or so help me…”  
  
“I’m Draco too,” his son argued. “And if you wanna ignore that, fine. But I can’t. Not for you or…or anyone else.”  
  
“You worthless, disgraceful, good for nothing…”  
  
“And guess what?” Draco ranted on, apparently on a roll. “You _can’t_ tell me who I love either! I’m…I’m gonna date whoever I like!”  
  
“Yeah, you are!” Dudley put in as Lucius snarled.  
  
“I am!” Draco reiterated, lifting his chin belligerently. “An’…an’ you can’t stop me! Hell, if I want to I’ll date…” He looked around, his gaze immediately zeroing in on an unsuspecting Dudley. “I’ll date _him!_ ” Draco finished triumphantly.  
  
 **“What?!”**  
  
“Um…okay?” Dudley managed. That being said, he sportingly slung an arm around Draco’s slender shoulders.  
  
“Yeah!” Draco crowed, grinning smugly at a visibly paling Lucius. “Hey Father, meet my new _muggle_ boyfriend...er…”  
  
“Dudley.”  
  
“Dudley!” Draco reiterated happily.  
  
 **“Draco Abraxas Malfoy The Third!”**  
  
“An’ he’s not even rich!”  
  
“Middle class at best,” Dudley agreed.  
  
Lucius sputtered and even Draco frowned a bit at that. But he rallied forth nevertheless. “Well, I think tha’s all I wanted t’say. We should get goin’ Dud-dud. Things to do…more lives to destroy ‘n all…”  
  
“Kay,” Dudley nodded. “But can we take a cab this time? I don’ wanna do the teleportation thing again…”  
  
“Ugh, _fine._ We’ll take the Knight Bus, okay? C’mon, dog. Bye, Father!”  
  
Lucius’ icy façade crumbled and he stared in ill-concealed horror as his only child ambled off into the darkness, draped around a muggle. A _fat_ muggle. Lucius shuddered at the very thought, and came to the gut wrenching realization that he could not put a stop to this. Draco was out of control. That only left him one alternative. It was time to seek counsel from higher, wiser forces.  
  
Lucius sucked in a deep breath and bellowed.   
  
**“Narcissa!”**


	6. Operation 'Tear Potter a New One' Initiated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys (finally) meander their way over to their last and final victim.

“Bye, Stan,” Dudley called cheerily, staggering off the Knight Bus. “Thanks fer the toothbrush!”   
  
“Thanks for taking us to that McDonalds place,” Stan Shunpike called back. “Oi Ernie, you gonna finish them nuggets?”  
  
Draco rolled his eyes and stepped in. “I really hate to break this up ‘n all, but me ‘n the muggle have important bizness to attend to. C’mon Dud-dud, up an’ at ‘em!”  
  
Dudley watched the bus hurtle away as Draco dragged him further into the decidedly non-magical district. They screeched to a halt and Dudley frowned as he surveyed the small apartment complex in front of him. “You sure he lives here?” The building was unremarkable and ordinary. In contrast to everything else that had been thrown at him tonight, it was almost dull.  
  
“Positive,” Draco confirmed, gulping down the last of the wine and chucking away the bottle. “Potter doesn’ like attention, see? He lives in this muggle dump so th’ reporters can’t get to ‘im.” He sneered at the building. “Stupid Potter.”  
  
“Stupid, _stupid_ Potter,” Dudley echoed with a growl. “Let’s go teach th’ stupid life-saving prat a lesson.”  
  
They made their shaky, wavering way over and Dudley followed Draco up the stairs, Samson close behind them. The blond stopped in front of an unremarkable door, blinking uncomprehendingly at it. “This ‘s the place,” he declared. The boys stared in silence- kindred spirits united in the quest for their last and most sought after victim.   
  
“We’re _here_ ,” Draco murmured reverently. “Stupid Potter is right behind this door.”  
  
“We made it,” Dudley agreed, clasping his shoulder in a brotherly fashion. “Together.”  
  
Draco wiped his eyes discreetly. “’S been quite a ride, muggle,” he muttered gruffly. “An’…an’ I’ll only say this _once_ but you should know - there’s no other bloke I’d rather tear a strip off Potter with than you.”  
  
Dudley sniffled and put a husky arm around Draco in an awkward semi hug. “Same here, mate.”  
  
And then at some point in this very special, heart-warming moment, they both remembered that they were _men_ and hurriedly disentangled themselves with a lot of awkward jacket brushing and throat clearing. Draco shook himself and turned back to the door. “You ready?” he demanded.  
  
Dudley nodded grimly. “Yeah. Jus’ get in there and _do_ it.”  
  
“Tha’s what _he_ said,” Draco grinned.  
  
They snickered happily at that for all of three minutes and then Draco knocked.  
  
                                                                                                                       

* * *

  
  
“I’m turning in, ‘Mione. Godric’s honour,” Harry said, kneeling at his fireplace and smiling fondly at the concerned face of his best friend. “You and Ron don’t _have_ to check up on me every two hours, you know.”  
  
“It 3 AM, Harry,” Hermione admonished severely. “This is no time to ‘turn in’. You should have been in bed hours ago.”  
  
“So I’m catching up on some case files,” Harry shrugged. “What else is there to do?” He neglected to mention that if he had someone to wake up to or go to bed with, he’d probably keep better hours. Hermione would just start heckling him about going out more and…  
  
“Was that a knock?” Hermione demanded suddenly. Harry frowned and turned to look at his door. The knock sounded again.  
  
“Harry, who’s at your door at this time of night?” Hermione whispered, looking alarmed.  
  
“I don’t know,” Harry replied. “I’ll go have a look. You stay here.”  
  
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “I’m in your _floo_ , Harry. I don’t exactly have a choice.” She bit her lip as the knocking commenced again, urgent and frantic. “Be careful,” she warned. “And if you need back up…”  
  
“I’ll scream like a little girl,” Harry offered, giving her a grin over his shoulder as he headed for the door.   
  
He swung it open and…  
  
… and the universe imploded. Or at least that’s what Harry surmised had happened. Aside from that, there was no logical explanation for what he was seeing.  
  
He stood and stared, literally shocked out of action. He shook his head and blinked. Then he rubbed his eyes. They were still here. Harry slowly came to the very foreboding conclusion that he was _not_ hallucinating. Which meant that he was actually seeing…   
  
“Hellllo, Potter,” Malfoy grinned affably, conveniently propped up against the door frame.  
  
“Wotcher, cousin,” Dudley contributed.  
  
Harry staggered and managed a garbled sound in his throat, not quite capable of speech yet. He suspected that he would have started screaming if Hermione’s frantic voice hadn’t jerked him out of his mental spiral of _whatthehell whatthehell whatthefuckinghell…_  
  
“Harry? Harry! I heard voices! What’s going on there?!”  
  
“Nothing...nothing important,” Harry called back. He was rather impressed by how calm he sounded. “Just the apocalypse, is all.”  
  
“ _What?!_ ”  
  
Harry waved a wand and doused the fire. Later. He would deal with Hermione later. As of now, he had to concentrate on the small problem of getting _out_ of the Twilight Zone. He cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses and turned to address his guests slash worst nightmare come to life.  
  
“Can I help you?”  
  
“Help us, he says,” Malfoy sneered petulantly. “After everythin’ he’s done, he wants to _help_. Can you believe it?!”  
  
“The nerve,” Dudley muttered. “He sucks.”  
  
“He _totally_ sucks!” Malfoy agreed vehemently.  
  
Harry blinked. He hadn’t thought it possible for his reality to get even more convoluted. Malfoy and Dudley looked exceptionally pissed at him- oh well, at least that bit was normal. Harry was still struggling with how best to address this dilemma when Malfoy jumped in, taking the offensive. “As a matteroffact, Pothead you _can_ help,” he growled, poking haphazardly at Harry’s chest. “Me ‘n my best mate here…” he paused to sling his arm around Dudley again. Harry tried very hard not to drop into a dead faint. Malfoy prattled on relentlessly. “Me ‘n the big guy have ter bone you.”  
  
“ _Excuse me?!_ ”   
  
Dudley pondered this for a while and frowned. “I think ya mean we have a bone to _pick_ with ‘im.”  
  
“Potato potahto,” Malfoy replied, waving a dismissive hand.   
  
It certainly wasn’t and Harry would have said so, but apparently something he had done had given his visitors the idea that they were welcome in his home. Malfoy shouldered past him and ambled indoors, closely followed by Dudley and… a dog. Sure, why not? The dog greeted him with a wag and a friendly woof and Harry rubbed his temples.   
  
Okay. This…this was happening. He didn’t know how or why but Malfoy and Dudley were here, together _(whatthehell whatthehell whatthe **fucking** hell!)_ and quite obviously drunk. And he was going to have to deal with it. Okay. He could do this. Boy Who Lived and all, yeah? Okay.  
  
By the time he had a handle on the situation his blond quandaries had made themselves right at home at the kitchen table. Malfoy was pawing through his stash of sugar quills and Dudley was feeding the dog scraps from the table. They halted as he stepped in and regarded him with twin glares and glazed, bleary eyes. Harry cleared his throat and took a deep breath, settling down on a chair across from them.  
  
“Okay, we’ll start with something simple,” he decided. “Dare I ask about the dog?”  
  
“Buckbeak givvit to us,” Malfoy supplied, nodding seriously.  
  
“Of course,” Harry sighed. He supposed he could just throw the sloshed idiots out and pretend this never happened. But Dudley looked dangerously unsteady and Malfoy could barely stand anymore. Harry cursed. _Stupid_ hero instincts…right then; might as well get this over with.   
  
“Why exactly are you two here?”                                                                                       
  
Big mistake. Harry backed into his chair as they started railing at him together- an unintelligible, garbled mess of accusations accompanied by some rather violent hand gesturing from Malfoy. He managed to decipher a few phrases- most of them uncomplimentary- before finally giving up and slamming his fist on the table.  
  
“Okay! _One_ inebriated childhood tormentor at a time please!”  
  
They subsided sullenly and Harry racked his brains for a way to deal with them. Separately, he decided. They were making zero sense together. Dudley seemed like the easier option. “Come on, Dudley,” he said, getting up and gesturing to the living room. “I need to talk to you in private.”  
  
“Yer not taking Dud-dud!” Malfoy snapped, glomming on to his cousin. Dudley patted his head in a show of silent support. Harry suppressed the urge to rip his hair out. “I just want to talk to him alone, Malfoy,” he replied, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. “You stay here and finish up those sugar quills, yeah?”  
  
He waited as the two had a silent conversation of sorts. Malfoy’s eyes narrowed and Dudley shrugged. Malfoy pursed his lips and detached himself sullenly. “Fine,” he muttered. “But ‘m watchin’ you, Scarhead.”  
  
“Of course,” Harry nodded seriously, trying not to grin at the blond’s show of protectiveness. He filed it away in the back of his mind for later blackmail and ushered his swaying, staggering cousin to the living room. “Okay Big D,” he cajoled, helping the heaving blond onto the couch. “I’m sensing there’s quite a story behind this. So why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”  
  
Dudley picked at a cushion sulkily. “M mad at you,” he declared. “Draco too.”  
  
“Yes, I gathered that much,” Harry replied. “Him, I get. Pretty much born mad at me. What’s your problem? We haven’t seen each other in years.”  
  
Dudley gave him a hurt look. “That’s the problem, you berk!”  
  
Harry’s eyebrows raised a fraction. This, he hadn’t been expecting.  “Dudley, I…”  
  
“You left!” Dudley snapped. “You…you just saved my life and you went away! What’s _that_ all about?”   
  
“I had to leave,” Harry replied gently. “You _know_ why.”  
  
“You didn’ even look back,” Dudley mumbled. “If you had, I would’ve…I could’ve…but you didn’t!”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Harry tried, shrugging helplessly. Honestly, where was all of this coming from? “I…didn’t think you’d want to see me again. We weren’t exactly friends, Dudley.”  
  
“I know,” Dudley hiccupped fretfully. “’s my fault. I was a sh-shite t’ you. But I changed after…well, you know. I…I wanted to tell you that an’ that I’m sorry and…and all this other stuff. But I didn’t know where to find you or how to…I didn’t even know if you were alive until _he_ came along.” Harry followed the line of Dudley’s shaky finger over to Malfoy. The blond favoured him with a rude gesture and Harry rolled his eyes, turning back to his cousin.   
  
“You could’ve called, Harry,” Dudley said quietly. “Just once. You could’ve.” He looked so lost and forlorn and utterly unlike the Dudley he remembered. Despite himself, Harry felt a flash of guilt.  
  
“I’m sorry it took Draco Malfoy for me to talk to you again,” he ventured, placing a hesitant hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “It’s…not easy, with our history. But you’re right, Dudley. I could have called and I didn’t. I’m sorry and I _can_ see that you’ve changed. I’d like to try again if…if that’s what you want.”  
  
Dudley offered him a tentative smile. “I told Dad to shove it,” he confessed, almost shyly. “And… I’m a chef now.”  
  
Harry managed a surprised bark of laughter. “We clearly have a lot of catching up to do,” he grinned. “But maybe when you’re sober, okay? C’mon. I’ll take you to the guest room.”  
  
He managed to heave his bulky cousin over to the guestroom. Dudley didn’t even comment when he levitated him over for the last few feet. Harry put it down to too much alcohol. Either that, or Malfoy had shown him a few tricks of his own…Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Shaking his head, he helped Dudley under the covers.   
  
“Harry?”  
  
“Yeah?”   
  
Dudley stirred sleepily. “Draco’s an okay bloke. He’s just mad at you fer... savin’ his life ‘n all.”  
  
Harry gave up. “Yes, I imagine that would be very upsetting,” he agreed. “Go to sleep, Big D. I’ll see you in the morning.”   
  
A snore rumbled from the bed and Harry turned out the light.  
  
One down. One to go.                                                                                                          
  
                                                                                                                             

* * *

  
  
Malfoy had staked claim on the couch by the time Harry returned. He was sprawled across it, blinking at nothing in particular and petting the dog absently. Harry halted for a second, somewhat taken aback by just how…ruffled he looked. All tousled hair and flushed skin, with his shirt riding up from one side…it was nothing like the aloof, put together Malfoy he knew. This Malfoy looked young and small and sleepy. Harry bit his lip, trying to convince himself that small, sleepy Malfoy was by no account cute. The words  _breathtakingly adorable_ didn’t even cross Harry’s mind. Not at all.  
  
He approached the couch and sat down on the edge, eyeing the blond cautiously. Malfoy had proved to be extremely unpredictable so far and Harry wasn’t entirely sure what to make of his behaviour.   
  
“He’s asleep,” he offered by way of conversation. “We talked a bit. I think we’ll be okay.”  
  
Malfoy blinked at him, before his brow arched in a familiar glare. “Bully fer you,” he mumbled sullenly. He seemed rather put out at having his playmate taken away. Harry resisted the urge to pat his head and offer him a chocolate frog.  
  
“Maybe you and I should talk too,” he ventured cautiously.  
  
“Don’ wanna talk to you,” Malfoy replied, curling into the couch like a sulky child.  
  
“I see,” Harry replied dryly. “So you drank your own weight in alcohol, acquired my estranged cousin and barged into my house at this obscene hour because you _don’t_ want to talk to me.”            
  
Malfoy glowered at a cushion and Harry sighed. He was entirely unsurprised by how difficult this was proving to be. Merlin knows Malfoy was _way_ more complicated than Dudley. “Look,” he attempted, shifting closer and ignoring the blond’s growl of protest. “There are things- a _lot_ of things- that I don’t understand right now. But I do know that you came here to say something to me. And frankly, I would like it very much if we could just deal with your problem. So please…”  
  
As was practice, he had inadvertently said something that set Malfoy off. Harry blinked as the blond suddenly lunged for his side of the couch. He was nose to nose with Harry now, glaring at him for all he was worth. Harry had about two seconds to appreciate the way Malfoy’s eyes sparked when he was angry before the blond started hissing at him like a furious cat.   
  
“I don’t _have_ a problem, stupid Potter! I just don’t _like_ you!”  
  
Harry scowled back out of pure habit. He was tired and confused and _rapidly_ losing his patience- all side-effects of being within ten feet of Malfoy. It was just easier to fall back into the habit of lashing back at the irritating git. “Yeah? Well that’s fine because I don’t like you either!”   
  
Malfoy glowered petulantly and pushed at him. Harry yelped as he nearly toppled over, steadying himself at the last second.  
  
“Quit that!” he snapped.  
  
Malfoy sneered and shoved him again. “Damn it, Malfoy!” Harry spat, retaliating with a shove of his own.  
  
And chaos descended. Before he knew it, there he was- sixteen all over again and tussling with Malfoy- on his ratty living room couch of all places. There was a lot of kicking and punching, mostly from Malfoy’s end- considering that Harry couldn’t quite bring himself to beat up a bloke who was a) half his size and b) so drunk that he had a cushion in a chokehold. That being said, even a drunk, barely standing Malfoy possessed the presence of mind to be a dirty _cheater._ The blond released the cushion and torpedoed Harry _again_ , biting into his shoulder this time.  
  
Harry swore as sharp teeth sank into his flesh and Malfoy’s skinny arms wrapped around him to claw his back. Nails dug into his skin through his shirt and Malfoy hooked a leg around him, presumably to keep him in place while he continued his assault. Harry hissed in pain (pain, definitely pain; _nothing_ else) and yanked him off, pinning him to the couch by his wrists.  
  
“Enough!” he yelled, holding the squirming brat down with his weight. “For the love of Godric, what’s gotten into you?”  
  
“Lemme go! Geroff, Potter!” Malfoy snarled.  
  
“No! You’ll just bite me again!”  
  
Malfoy glared up at him and Harry swallowed as he suddenly realized just what kind of position he’d landed himself in. _No,_ he told himself firmly. Malfoy was drunk and obviously overwrought. He didn’t know what he was doing and Harry was not, repeat _not_ going to take advantage of the stupid, sloshed, attractive little idiot. Even if he _had_ started the whole biting thing…  
  
That being said, he was finding it _really_ hard to let go of him. Malfoy’s fringe was falling over his eyes and he shook his head tetchily, trying to dislodge it. Harry sighed and removed his hand from Malfoy’s wrist, intending to remove the stray annoyance. His eyes narrowed as the blond growled again. “Do _not_ bite me again,” Harry warned.  
  
Malfoy made no promises but he didn’t bare his teeth either- pretty much the closest thing to cooperation Harry was going to get at this point. So, he ran his free hand through Malfoy’s hair, pushing it back gently. Harry’s breath hitched. Of course, his hair would be almost obscenely soft. And of course it would sift through his fingers in fine, pale strands. Malfoy seemed to like the petting actually. He had calmed down and was regarding Harry with large grey eyes, looking small and sleepy and not cute all over again. Harry sighed and continued with his ministrations.  
  
“ _How_ do you get into so much trouble?” he muttered out loud.  
  
“Talent,” Malfoy mumbled, closing his eyes and arching into Harry’s hand.  
  
Harry grinned. “Of course. Do you at least feel better now?”  
  
“Dunno. Still hate you,” Malfoy mumbled, stifling a yawn and nuzzling into his fingers. “Hate you…and can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you ‘cause…’cause you _suck_ , Potter. And I don’ _like_ bein’ in love with you at all, just so y’know. Can’t…can’t help it though…”  
  
Harry’s hand froze mid-air, but Malfoy was almost asleep again. _He doesn’t know what he’s saying,_ he reminded himself. That thought shouldn’t be so depressing. But there was no doubt about it. When morning came, he knew that Malfoy was going to go back to hating him again and Harry wasn’t about to delude himself that he really…  
  
“You need sleep,” he murmured finally, getting up and helping Malfoy up on the couch. Harry _accioed_ a blanket and tucked him in, running his hands through that soft, blond hair one last time. “Get some rest…Draco,” he whispered softly.  
  
“Wanna sleep with Dud-dud,” the blond mumbled sulkily.   
  
The frisson of jealousy that ran up his spine was rather unexpected- he knew for a fact that there was nothing between Malfoy and his cousin, save for an unfathomable, _very_ bizarre friendship. Still, the idea rankled and innocent as it may be, Harry wasn’t about to let it happen.  
  
“You’ll sleep here,” he murmured, gently but firmly. “You can see him in the morning, okay?”  
  
Malfoy grumbled but turned over obediently and promptly fell asleep. Harry watched him for a while, just to be sure that the blond was finally out for the night. The dog padded over and licked his hand, whimpering enquiringly. Harry smiled and patted him. “You’ll still like me in the morning, right boy?”  
  
The dog ruffed in agreement and Harry scratched his ears before getting up and turning out the lights. And if he leaned over and kissed the sleeping blond’s head before leaving…well, he was pretty sure the dog could keep a secret.


	7. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all comes together in the light of day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Mentions of Theo Nott/Piers Polkiss in the last section. Is that's not your thing, consider skip over.

Draco woke up feeling like complete shite. His eyes burned, his throat was dry and the taste in his mouth was vaguely reminiscent of kitchen floor and cheap wine. He didn’t know which was worse. Draco whimpered and buried himself in the covers, vaguely noting that they were certainly not his own. Neither was the couch he was currently sprawled across. Vague memories from the night flitted back and forth in his sleep addled head. Something about the Knight Bus and…a hippogriff…oh Merlin, what had he _done_ last night?  
  
Whatever it was, he had a _very_ bad feeling that it was all going to come back to the reason he’d been out drinking in the first place…oh _god_. What had possessed him to drink that much? _Why_ was he on someone else’s couch? And fucking hell, maybe he’d be able to figure this _out_ if that incessant tapping in his head would stop for a fucking minute and…  
  
Draco’s eyes shot open as he realized that something was actually tapping at his head. Blinding light assaulted his vision and he whined and attempted to curl and die again. The owl however, did not consider excruciating agony and self loathing as sufficient cause for neglect. He landed gracefully on Draco’s arm, hooting indignantly. Draco cracked an eye open- slowly this time- to get a good look at his assaulter.  
  
Th-thanatos?”  
  
His old familiar cocked his head regally and regarded him with judging, beady eyes. Draco had half a second to wonder why his old school owl was here of all places, when the bird lost patience and chastised him with another round of scolding pecks. “Oh, like _you’ve_ never had a wild night before,” Draco muttered, disentangling himself and relieving Thanatos of the letters. There were two and the sight of the Malfoy crest on both of them made him cringe. Now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure he’d gone to the Manor last night and…  
  
“Oh _Merlin_ ,” Draco moaned. He pried the first letter open with shaking hands. The fact that it wasn’t a Howler meant nothing; Father preferred to do his shouting in person. And if half of what he was remembering was even slightly accurate, he was in for more than just a good yelling. Draco groaned and focused on the letter.  
  


_Draco,_   
  
_Hopefully, this will reach you before you do something drastic. Your mother and I have been talking about your…situation. Perhaps I was a bit harsh regarding your inclinations towards Potter. I can see now that he is a suitable match for you- a powerful young **wizard** with a respectable name in the **magical** world._   
  
_I admit that I am not entirely comfortable with your…orientation. However, as your father I wish only for your happiness. Given enough time, it would gladden me to see you settled with an **appropriate** life partner who is ~~not a muggle~~ from **magical stock**. Potter is certainly a far better match for you than ~~that fat muggle boy~~ any other suitors you may currently be considering._   
  
_Your mother and I have discussed this at length, and we will be glad to receive both of you at the Manor, whenever you wish to formally introduce Potter to us._   
  
_I hope to see you ~~without the muggle~~ soon._   
  
_In anticipation of your reply_   
  
_Father_   
  


Draco gaped at the letter uncomprehendingly. “What. The. Hell?” His head was still reeling when Thanatos dropped the second letter in his lap and perched on his shoulder. This one was from Mother.  
  


_Draco darling_   
  
_I do hope the owl finds you. He’s quite efficient and I seem to recall he was always rather good at seeking you out._   
  
_That said I certainly hope you have an explanation for your behaviour last night, young man. It is most unseemly to come to the Manor in the dead of the night, traumatise your father and leave without even saying hello to me. That is **not** how I raised you._   
  
_You will also be glad to know that I have sorted out the mess you made (no need to thank me, I’m just your mother after all). It took two calming potions and a strong dose of Firewhisky, but Father has agreed not to disinherit you or throw any more tantrums about your romantic preferences._   
  
_Speaking of which, I’m certain this muggle of yours is a charming fellow. And there is nothing wrong with seeing a muggle boy (aside from the small matter of giving your Father an aneurysm). However, I do seem to recall you walking out on your home and legacy over Harry Potter, so perhaps you should reconsider him? He’s certainly a fine catch, darling. You could do worse._   
  
_Think about it. And come home soon, sweetheart._   
  
_All my love_   
  
_Mother_   
  
_PS: If I **ever** hear about you drinking again, we will be having words. You remember that, Draco Abraxas Malfoy The Third._   
  


Draco tossed the letters away, unable to deal with the sheer deluge of _whatthefuck_ at this point of time.  He groaned and buried his face in his hands. It was coming back…slowly and painfully.  
  
The…the muggle in the bar…and then the dog- oh _Merlin_ , the **dog!** And then he’d…with the…and then the…  
  
“I am _never_ drinking again,” Draco muttered out loud, gritting his teeth as his stomach lurched again. Gingerly, he got off the couch. First things first, he needed to figure out where he was. He took a look around the tiny living room…definitely non magical. Maybe he’d crashed at the muggle’s place after…  
  
Draco’s eyes narrowed suddenly as he caught sight of a photograph on the wall. His stomach twisted and he approached it. Granger, Weasley and Potter waved back cheerfully at him. Draco staggered like a pile of bricks.   
  
Potter’s house. He was at Harry bloody _Potter’s_ house!   
  
No.   
  
No. No. Oh **god** no!  
  
That meant that he had most certainly come to see Potter last night. Which meant that…  
  
 _“Fuck!”_ Draco groaned. Oh, this was bad. Very _very_ bad. What had he done? What had he _said?_ Surely he hadn’t…had he? He couldn’t recall a thing about meeting Potter last night, but considering the frame of mind he’d been in, it couldn’t have been good.   
  
Well, no one had ever accused Draco of being a Gryffindor. He was getting the hell out of here right now. He looked around frantically, almost praying for his wand. Nothing. Draco cursed. Fucking hell, he needed to leave this place _now!_ He took another round of the room before determining that the damn thing was certainly not there.   
  
The kitchen, maybe? Yes. Yes, he had certainly been in Potter's kitchen last night…  
  
Draco shot out of the room and into the hall as if werewolves were chasing him. The kitchen was straight ahead and he barged in, immediately screeching to a halt as he realized he wasn’t alone.  
  
The muggle turned, his attention diverted from the eggs he was frying. Brown eyes blinked at him in surprise before a glimmer of recognition set in. Draco blinked back, staring unabashedly at the stocky blond.   
  
Well.  
  
This was awkward.  
  
It was the muggle who broke the silence. “Morning,” he greeted carefully.  
  
“Hi,” Draco mumbled, looking at the toaster with avid interest. He cleared his throat and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Um…where is…”  
  
“The shower,” the muggle replied, turning back to the eggs. “He…er…left this for you. Said you might need it?”  
  
Draco took the offered vial, recognizing Hangover Potion when he saw it. He gulped it down, sighing gratefully as the headache receded. “Fuck, that’s good.”  
  
“I’m more of a coffee and aspirin person myself,” the muggle shrugged. “But this is good too.”         
  
Draco nodded uneasily. This was way too weird. He almost wished Potter was here. Almost. “So…you’re the cousin,” he managed finally.  
  
The muggle nodded, offering him a half smile. “And you’re the jerk from high school.”  
  
Draco managed a weak chuckle. “We probably should have worked the introductions in somewhere last night.” He shrugged and held out his hand. “Draco Malfoy.”  
  
“Dudley Dursley,” the muggle grinned, shaking it. “Nice to officially meet you.” He gestured to the frying pan. “Breakfast?”  
  
Why not? He could always make a run for it if Potter showed up. So they sat together and shovelled in eggs and toast. Draco started as a happy yip sounded behind him. The dog bounded in. He ruffed at Draco in greeting and then scampered over to Dudley, angling for table scraps. Draco stared at the canine, as certain memories came back.  
  
“Um…did I really…”  
  
“Yes,” the muggle affirmed.  
  
“And did I call her a…”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And did I actually…”  
  
“Yes. Yes. And probably.”  
  
Draco groaned and slumped over on the table, absently wondering if it was possible to die of mortification. “Sorry about your father,” he mumbled. “I don’t usually go around threatening people at wand point.”  
  
A large hand patted his shoulder and Draco started in surprise. “Don’t be,” Dudley said earnestly. “You did good, actually. I got a call from Dad this morning on my mobile.” He paused and pulled out a shiny rectangle from his pocket. Draco assumed that it was the ‘mobile’. Dudley went on, oblivious to his musings.  
  
“I didn’t even think he had my number anymore but…well, long story short he liked the éclairs. Ate the whole box. And he said he’d come down to the café next weekend and we could catch up. It’s…well, it’s a start.” He smiled at Draco. “Not too bad for a couple of drunk tossers.”  
  
Draco grinned back. “I’m not getting disinherited,” he offered. “Turns out when adequately traumatised, my father can be a surprisingly reasonable chap. So I guess you did good too.”  
  
“We both did. And we make one hell of a team.”  
  
Draco managed a smirk, despite all the crazy. “We do. It was…well, fun.”  
  
“It was,” Dudley nodded. “We should get drunk and tell Potter off again some time.”  
  
Draco laughed. “Stupid Potter,” he chanted automatically.  
  
“Stupid, _stupid_ Potter.”  
  
“Really?” an exasperated voice broke in. “I thought we worked this out.”  
  
Draco stiffened as Potter strode into the kitchen, clad in a t-shirt and track pants and towelling off his wet hair. Shit! He should have run when he had the chance. Draco cursed mentally. Dudley merely laughed and shrugged. “Nothing personal, Harry. It’s just a thing. You won’t understand.”  
  
“I never do,” Potter agreed, walking over with the hint of a smile at his lips. “You need a ride home, Big D?”  
  
“Nah,” Dudley replied. “I’ll get a cab.” Draco watched with mild interest as he shook hands with Potter. “You have my number, right?”  
  
Potter smiled. “I do. We’ll keep in touch, Dudley. I’ll stop by for that peach torte you kept bragging about tomorrow.”  
  
Dudley grinned back. “I’m glad. See you then, Harry.”  
  
And then Draco found himself completely blindsided as the muggle turned to _him_ and enveloped him in a bone crushing hug. “Thanks for everything, mate. I’ll see you around, yeah?”  
  
Draco was too stunned to do anything but gape. And then he caught a glance of Potter who was quite obviously trying not to burst out laughing. Draco shot him a dirty look and returned the hug, patting the taller boy’s back awkwardly. “Take care, muggle.”  
  
Dudley clapped his shoulder, nodded at Potter and collected his dog. And just like that, he was gone. Draco stared after him, a tad surprised at realizing that he actually missed the big lug.   
  
Honestly, _what_ had his life come to?  
  
“You’ll see him again,” a voice broke into his thoughts. Draco started and his gaze darted towards Potter who was regarding him with a serious, rather sincere expression on his face. Great.   
  
“Do I look like I care?” he snapped.  
  
“Well yes, actually,” Potter replied with a grin. “Not surprising. The two of you were practically joined at the hip last night.”  
  
Draco winced at the mention of The Night That Never Should Have Been. “In my defence,” he attempted. “I…wasn’t exactly myself last night.”  
  
Potter chuckled. “I’ll say. You were practically a Gryffindor.”  
  
Draco bristled. “Bite your tongue, Potter. I will never be a...”  
  
“Oh no?” Potter looked entirely too smug for his own good. “Because Dudley mentioned something about taking on my Uncle Vernon _and_ Lucius Malfoy in the same night.” He leaned back in his chair, regarding Draco with a sparkle of amusement in his green eyes. “Damn, Malfoy. You’re sure you didn’t slay any dragons? Maybe rescue a princess or two from a tower?”   
  
Draco scowled, not entirely sure if Potter’s teasing was complimentary or not. It _sounded_ complimentary. “I was drunk,” he reiterated grudgingly.  
  
“Believe me, I know. I was there. For the last bit.”  
  
Draco winced again. Oh well, might as well get this part over with…  
  
“Look, Potter. About that. I…don’t know what shite I probably said last night but…” He trailed off as Potter’s squeezed his shoulder gently. Draco looked up into earnest, green eyes.   
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Potter said softly. “I’m…I’m not going to hold you to anything you said last night, Malfoy. I promise.”  
  
Draco sighed and slumped back against his chair. He wasn’t entirely sure why his relief was tinged with a little disappointment but…at least Potter was being decent about this. “Thank you,” he mumbled. “And…and I apologize for…”  
  
“Don’t,” Potter cut in firmly. “Don’t apologise. Please.”  
  
Draco frowned. “I don’t understand.”   
  
Potter sighed and scrubbed a hand through his wet hair again, giving Draco that _intense_ look he always got when he was steeling himself for something. “Look, I know you were drunk and…and you didn’t mean what you said. But it’s not like I minded or anything. In fact, it was…I don’t know; I’d just rather you didn’t apologize for it. Whatever you said. So if you don’t mind, I’d just rather we…”  
  
"Potter,” Draco interrupted abruptly. This…this was…well, he didn’t know but he definitely wanted Potter to elaborate. “What in Merlin’s name are you…”  
  
“It’s your own fault, you know,” Potter grumbled sullenly. “You didn’t _have_ to make such a cute drunk. And you didn’t have to go around rescuing dogs and yelling at Uncle Vernon either. And I’ll have you know that I was doing just fine until you dropped into my life _again_ and completely blindsided me! All in a day’s work for you, isn’t it?”  
  
“Potter, I…”  
  
“Don’t interrupt me when I’m telling you off!” Potter snapped. He was ranting now, looking more and more flustered by the second, and under any other circumstances Draco would have gladly retaliated- except Potter was saying these _things_ and he’d be damned if he stopped him.  
  
And then, it gets even better!” Potter carried on, waving a frantic hand around and knocking over a teapot. It crashed to the floor and Draco couldn’t care less. His whole world consisted of one ranting, angry boy with green eyes and dark, messy hair who was saying that…  
  
“Because _you_ have to go and tell me that you love me! And you have _no_ fucking idea that you’re saying something I want to hear so badly it hurts and…and it’s bloody unfair, Malfoy! You really, _really_ didn’t have to do any of it is all I’m saying. And while we’re on the subject…”  
  
Draco kissed him. Or to paint a more accurate picture, he launched himself over the table, wrapped his arms around Potter and smashed their lips together. Potter flailed and sputtered for about five seconds before coming to the conclusion that this was a _good_ thing and then he moaned and wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist- so tightly it almost hurt- and pulled him flush against his body. Draco found himself being hoisted up and pushed back until he was lying on his back on the kitchen table, with Potter looming over him. The Gryffindor advanced on him and in true form, planted his hand right in the butter dish.  
  
“For fucks sake!” he growled, swiping the offending piece of crockery to the floor. Draco didn’t even have time to snicker and then Potter was on _top_ of him, all sinewy muscle and strong firm hands and teasing, warm lips on his neck and…  
  
“Oh _Merlin_ ,” Draco moaned, wrapping his legs around Potter’s waist and arching into him.  
  
“You really want this? Tell me you want this,” Potter insisted, almost desperately. “Tell me it’s not just…”  
  
“No,” Draco protested, tightening his hold on Potter’s waist. “I mean yes. I mean I…want you.” He could _feel_ Potter grinning into his neck.   
  
“Good,” he whispered. “Because you’re not getting rid of me now, Malfoy.”  
  
And Draco burst out laughing. It was stupid and ridiculous and so utterly inappropriate, but he just couldn’t help himself. Potter got up, frowning at him. “What’s so funny?” he demanded.  
  
“Nothing,” Draco choked out. “Merlin, I’m sorry. Its…it’s just that he said…he said getting drunk was not going to solve my problems and… well, look.”  
  
Potter’s frown dissipated and he grinned, nuzzling into Draco’s neck again. “Dudley said that, did he?”  
  
Draco shook his head, still chortling. “No. Not him. It was Theo. Right before I…”   
  
Ominous realization set in. Draco trailed off and his eyes widened with horror.   
  
“Oh fuck, _Theo!_ ”  
  


* * *

  
In a small apartment somewhere in London, Theo Nott woke up, slowly and painfully. His mouth was dry, his body was on fire and his head felt like it had recently been used as a venue for The Headless Hunt. And there was also the miniscule little detail of him being naked. With a pair of handcuffs dangling from his left wrist. Lovely.  
  
Theo groaned, voicing the only sentiment he was capable of registering at this point of time. “I am going to _kill_ Draco Abraxas Malfoy. The Third.”  
  
“Yeah, you said that last night.”  
  
Theo’s eyes snapped open and he turned, immediately finding himself staring into a sharp face complete with glinting, grey eyes and a mischievous, smug smile.   
  
“Hey there,” Piers Polkiss grinned, propping himself up on one arm and letting the sheet slide down his lean frame. He was naked too and only then did Theo note that his arse felt rather sore. He whimpered and attempted to bury himself in the covers.  
  
“Oh god,” he groaned. “Oh god oh god oh god…”  
  
The muggle looked entirely too smug. “Hey, what do you know? You said _that_ last night too.”  
  
Theo unearthed himself and scowled at the smirking git. “Shut it,” he snapped. “This is _not_ amusing.”  
  
“Not at all,” the muggle agreed, trailing a questing hand across the covers. “Certainly entertaining though.” He picked idly at a corner of Theo’s sheet, clearly intending to peel it off. Theo squeaked and slapped the offending hand away, bunching the covers in his hands and pulling them up to his chin. Piers chuckled.  
  
“Aww, look at you all shy,” he teased. “I seem to recall you being _very_ uninhibited last night.”  
  
“You took advantage of me!” Theo protested indignantly.   
  
“Believe me, cutie. You ‘took advantage’ of me too.”  
  
Theo shivered, telling himself resolutely that the vivid images flitting through his mind were _repugnant_ , and not at all arousing. Except his cock clearly begged to differ. Perfect. Theo groaned and slumped back on the bed. “Figures,” he grumbled. “ _He_ drinks and I get screwed.”  
  
“Perils of being a best friend,” the muggle agreed. His eyes raked Theo’s frame indolently and he grinned again. “Although, it does have its…perks.”  
  
“Stop _looking_ at me like that!” Theo shrilled, bunching the covers up again. “You have no idea how bad this is! We are in so much shit right now! This is a disaster! A catastrophe! And let me tell you I am _this_ close to a complete and utter… **mmph!”**  
  
Theo flailed as he was unceremoniously grabbed and twisted on his back again. And then there were strong hands on his shoulders and firm, capable lips against his own and he _knew_ the proper thing to do was struggle or at least put up a fight of some sort but it felt…good. Really, really…  
  
“Still hyperventilating?” Piers demanded, finally breaking away. “Or do I have to shut you up again?”  
  
“No,” Theo muttered reluctantly. “It’s just…you don’t understand. We’re…we’re different.”  
  
Piers cocked his head and smiled. “You don’t look so different to me,” he whispered, nipping lightly at Theo’s shoulder.  
  
“But…”  
  
“Oh hush. Don’t overthink it.”  
  
Theo sighed and gave up, shivering pleasantly as a talented tongue traced its way down his collarbone. “Wh-what happens now?” he managed.  
  
“Well,” Piers smirked. “First things first. I want a repeat of last night’s performance, of course.” Theo gasped as a hand slipped below the sheet and flicked his nipple. “And then, I’ll take you out for breakfast. You like pancakes? Never mind, of course you do. And after _that_ , we’ll come back here and pick up where we left off. And so on and so forth. Let me know if you have any questions.”  
  
“Just one,” Theo moaned, arching into his hands. “Can…can we go get drinks later?”  
  
Piers chuckled against his throat. “I already stocked up on the vodka. Definitely plan on getting you drunk again.”  
  
And despite himself, Theo felt a reluctant grin tug at his lips. Oh, why not? Stranger things had happened. He hooked a leg around his lover and pulled him closer.   
  
“I’m starting to like you, muggle. A lot.”


End file.
